We are into double figures. 10 December and my special seasonal spidey-sense of being one step behind has finally arrived. The diary is filling up (tragically more with carpet fitters, electricians and house movers than parties, though these are starting to sneak in too and there is also a cultural trip to the ballet to be accommodated). Mum is not happy with internet shopping and wants a day somewhere with shops and I am having the devil of all jobs trying to fit one in. Every time I think I have juggled everything to make space, something new crops up, tree choosing, doctor’s appointments, the moving of curtain poles and making of space in the garage for “overflow”. Various items (not yet finished) need posting within the reasonable tolerance for “postie misfire.” An “undertop” to ensure the rather lovely red organza type thing I bought in bath is not X-rated must be sourced. I need to regain my sense of smell (hopes are pinned on the doctor’s appointments shoehorned in between furniture delivery and the London train). Somehow the attic bedrooms have to be rendered habitable (they are currently tips) before Hogmanay. Most mission critical of all, my sense of humour needs recovered from the safe place I left it in.
Today I endured an hour long navigation of slipper websites with mum, who found them all insufficiently “trendy”, walked the dog through bootsuckingly muddy woods, knitted a couple of rows of jumper, mixed two batches of experimental tea (as one does), boozed up the cakes, ordered the four rolls of wallpaper we seem to be missing, brought the plumber up to date and experienced existential despair on discovering that I had run out of cough sweets. So that’s all good.
The wrong kind of pistachios arrived today, hopefully the right sort will arrive soon. Various sewing patterns are “pending”. They should arrive sometime between the carpets and the wardrobes, and just in time for me to head off to London leaving an unholy mess on the garret floor. I am going to put on my headphones and tune in to something frivolous by way of antidote. It’ll all be fine
Bugger, forgot the quiz
Today’s quiz question: The Hallmarked man is which book (numbered consecutively) in the Cormoran Strike series by Robert Galbraith?
Yesterdays answer. A juvenile cormorant is blackish brown with a white chest
